The Other 10 Percent
by wildcard-dizzle
Summary: Sometimes the line between hate and not hate can be very blurry. Santana says she can't stand Rachel 90% of the time. The other 10 percent, though, well. That's a bit more complicated. (starts in 5x10, with some references to 5x09, and is mostly canon through 5x18)
1. Chapter 1: Love Took a Detour

**Title**: The Other 10 Percent  
**Author**: wildcard-dizzle  
**Rating**: E / M  
**Pairing(s)**: Primarily pezberry, with a smidgen of canon brittana  
**Spoilers:** starts in "Trio" (5x10), with some references to Frenemies (5x09), and is mostly canon through "Back-Up Plan" (5x18)  
**Summary**: Sometimes the line between hate and not hate can be very blurry. Santana says she can't stand Rachel 90% of the time. The other 10 percent, though, well. That's a bit more complicated.

A/N: This is a WIP. I'm anticipating it would be about 3-4 chapters. So please bear with me, and I hope you enjoy this first part. Thanks again to my amazing beta and friend, timorous-scribe.

**Chapter 1: Love Took a Detour**

**NYC.**

She's the first thing Santana notices after pushing back the curtain and entering the main part of the bar. Before she can even get a thought together, Rachel's word vomit is already assaulting her.

"Okay, look. The way I see it is we have two options right now. One is we have an all-out catfight in the middle of this bar–"

"Which I would win." Santana interrupts easily.

Sighing, Rachel continues undeterred. "_Or, _for the sake of Kurt we could pretend to be friends, even if it's just for tonight."

Santana ignores the sharp pain that stabs at the reminder that, no, they aren't actually friends anymore. Maybe they never were. "Fine. But _just_ for tonight. And only because I don't wanna get your blood all over my outfit." She reluctantly takes the seat next to Rachel, missing Rachel's quick assessment of said outfit.

Santana focuses on Kurt as he gives his long-winded explanation for the absence of the missing members of Pamela Lansbury. She takes note of Rachel eyeing her up in her periphery, but chooses not to dignify her sad attempts at silent intimidation. Instead, she continues to listen to Kurt's passive-aggressive philosophical monologue on friendship and his new little trio. Also, One Three Hill is such a lame band name in comparison, and Santana doesn't understand why the crowd seems to dig it. Maybe it's a good thing she isn't performing tonight. These people are idiots.

She is momentarily distracted by the one sane person in the room who yells "SHUT UP AND SING," chuckling to herself silently, until she catches him saying, "I guess it's like what they say." _Please, Kurt_, Santana thinks to herself, rolling her eyes_. Tell us. What DO "they" say?_

"Life is one long, windy road. And you're never sure what might happen." _What the hell is he talking about?_

They jump right into a song Santana's never heard before. When Dani starts her verse, singing about how her world fell apart, Santana finally turns to Rachel, who looks away as soon as she notices Santana moves. The way Dani is singing, Santana can't tell if the song is supposed to be about her fight with Rachel, or if there's something else she's missing. She looks back at Dani as she continues her verse.

"_I was sure I felt secure  
until love took a detour  
Yeah, I'm riding high on top of the world  
It happened, suddenly it just happened"_

_Seriously. What the hell are they talking about? _Santana blinks and smiles politely, wanting this to be over already. She can still feel Rachel stealing glances her way, possibly checking her for a reaction. However, she keeps her features as neutral as possible.

When it's finally over, Santana looks around as the whole bar cheers, her gaze landing on Rachel. Rachel immediately averts her eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor in front of her. There's a longing in her gut that is all too familiar. It's how she felt every time she saw Brittany with Artie. The feeling is so sudden and jarring that she doesn't even realize the trio approaching them from the stage. Rachel mumbles an "excuse me" as she gets up and leaves. Santana watches her go before her eyes settle on Dani, plastering the most genuine grin she can muster.

"Hey!" Dani greets her, pecking her on the lips quickly before rambling about needing to say hi to some friends that came to see her perform. Santana's "okay" is muffled by the din, Dani already halfway through the bar, navigating cocktail tables toward a group of people Santana doesn't recognize.

She stands up and walks toward where she assumed is the bathroom. She's leaning against one of the sinks, reapplying her lip gloss, when a stall door opens. Santana barely suppresses the urge to roll her eyes when she sees it's Rachel exiting. She pretends to continue with her lip gloss but finds herself taking in Rachel's dress. When she was sitting at the bar, it looked kinda nunnish, but it was actually shorter than she thought. She briefly marvels at how great Rachel's legs look even in the dimness of the bathroom, and kinda hates herself for it.

Rachel steps up to wash her hands at the sink next to Santana, watching her in the mirror out of the corner of her eye. She's the first to speak.

"Look, Santana. I am willing to put this past us if you want to just apologize."

Scoffing, Santana turns to face Rachel, advancing on her to point a finger in Rachel's face. The move is so quick and unexpected that Rachel stumbles back against the wall.

"You have GOT to be kidding. ME apologize? Your giant ego MUST be making you delusional if you think you don't have anything to be sorry for. YOU are the one that blew this all out of proportion and ended our friendship. Goddammit, Berry."

Santana puts her hand down and straightens her posture, not realizing she had been towering over Rachel. Taking a moment to reel in her anger, she shakes her head in disbelief.

"You know what? I don't even know why I bothered being friends with you in the first place. You're just a self-centered egomaniac with a big nose that can't admit that you're threatened by me." She takes note of the way Rachel's eyes widen and her nostrils flare. "Yeah, you can't STAND that I got the part and I barely had to work for it." She leans forward again to make sure her point is received. She can feel the heat radiating off of Rachel's face. "You're _always_ going to work twice as hard as me because the only thing you have going for you is your voice, and I have all of _this_."

Rachel visibly seethes at that, grabbing Santana by her arms and spinning around to pin her against the wall. Santana gasps in surprise, her eyes widening in a weird mix of fear and excitement and ire. Rachel opens her mouth to unleash the retort on her tongue, but instead mashes her lips against Santana's in a heated kiss. Santana's eyes open even wider in shock.

"Mmff." Santana isn't sure who made the noise, but neither one of them moves.

Finally, Santana feels Rachel's lips part, deepening the kiss. Rachel forces her tongue into Santana's mouth. Santana closes her eyes when she feels Rachel's tongue on her own, letting out a sigh through her nose and turning her head to accommodate Rachel.

Rachel grips Santana's arms more tightly, her fingernails pressing half moons into her skin. The kiss is a wet mess of clashing teeth and battling tongues. Santana hisses as Rachel takes her lower lip between her teeth, tugging at it roughly. Rachel stills when Santana moans, and Santana's hands are on her hips, pulling her closer.

The bathroom door opens and Rachel pushes off of Santana quickly. The woman that entered falters at seeing the exchange and excuses herself, leaving as quickly as she came in.

Chests heaving in their attempt to regulate their breathing, Santana and Rachel stare at each other in silence for several moments.

Again, Rachel is the first to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Santana is alone in the bathroom wondering what in the actual fuck just happened.

* * *

Mentally calculating how much she just spent on her retail therapy, Santana slides the loft door open. She sets her bags down on the kitchen table when she hears a vague rustling coming from her area of the loft. Walking over to it, she sees Rachel crouched in front of her dresser, rifling through her underwear.

"Why are you digging through my panty drawer, lezzie?"

Rachel sighs, "Well, before this drawer was filled with crotchless panties and stripper bras, it was my scented candle drawer." She stands from her crouched position, stepping toward Santana. "Elliott's lovely, but he seems to only know how to cook with cumin and curry." Rachel has barely finished her comment about Elliott's unfortunate culinary limitations when Santana seizes the opportunity to make fun of Rachel (really, she makes is _so_ easy).

"Okay, can we just talk for a second about how you used to have an entire drawer dedicated to scented candles?" She sees the panic that briefly crosses Rachel's face at the beginning of her statement. _So, she doesn't want to talk about it either. Okay then._

"Maybe another time."

For a split second, Santana's air of aloofness falters and a look of disappointment crosses her features. This banter feels comfortable, it's how they normally talk to each other. Before whatever it was that happened in the bathroom, before Rachel ended a friendship that apparently never was, before Santana went to that audition. In that split second, Santana could pretend like none of it happened and that she had her friend back. Rachel is talking again before she can think anything further.

"You know, it's funny, but I realized I really don't have any other girlfriends here in New York City, and you were sort of my only one." Rachel can barely look at Santana while she says this, her regret clear.

Before she can stop herself, Santana resorts to the snark that is all too natural for her. "Maybe you should take that as a sign of your horrible personality disorder."

Rachel bites back. "I'm sorry, but I don't see you perusing around town having cocktails with any of your gal pals."

Looking away, Santana relents. "Okay. I guess we didn't have a lot of girl friends in high school."

Rachel looks down, nodding slightly as Santana continues.

"Brittany doesn't count because I was in love with her. I guess I had Quinn but the fact that she lives an hour away, and I never thought about calling her should say something to me." Santana definitely doesn't miss the way Rachel's eyes dart back up to hers at the mention of Quinn, her lips pursing and her finger fiddling with the candle in a way that makes it seem like she's _this close_ to chucking it at her. She doesn't have much time to consider that or why she _hasn't _called either Quinn or Brittany much lately before Rachel is agreeing with her.

"Yeah. It sucks that we were all competitive about boys and solos."

Sure, she was competitive about solos. Someone needed to remind Rachel there were other people with star power. And Santana was gonna get hers when she could. Any opportunity to deflate Rachel's ego enough to fit into the choir room was more than welcome. There was never really a competition when it came to boys, however. _I mean, look at me._ It was just a way to get to Rachel; another way to get in her head. Now that she thinks about it, now that she's trying to apologize, now that she wants to be Rachel's friend, she can't figure out why she wanted to get to her in the first place. Maybe it was a way to get Rachel's attention? Santana shakes her head slightly to dismiss the idea.

"I mean, Kurt and Elliott are great, but it's just different having someone who really gets it." It's not until Rachel says the latter that she actually looks at Santana.

There's a moment where both of them allow the weight of the truth of that statement to settle in. Santana presses her lips together, and looks away. Scenes from her brief stay in the Hummelberry loft flash in her mind: how Rachel fell into Santana when she couldn't deny the positive pregnancy test anymore, and how right Santana felt consoling her; them walking home, arm-in-arm, late at night from their shift at the diner, swapping stories about sexist tourists and that gross guy on the subway that wouldn't stop staring at their bare legs; Rachel's smile when she saw a new carton of her favorite brand of coconut-almond milk in the fridge; Santana's relief at seeing _Buffy_ queued up and Rachel on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and pretzel m&ms (Santana's absolute favorite) after getting home from a long shift. She hadn't realized before that moment just how much they get it, how much they get each other.

Santana's broken from her reverie when Rachel takes a step toward her. She's not sure, but she thinks Rachel glanced briefly at her lips before doing so.

"I just don't understand, like, why _my_ part? Why _my_ understudy?"

Santana shrugs, "There was an opportunity, and I took it. You would have done the same thing."

Rachel closes her eyes at that, sighing resignedly.

"You would've fought to take down whoever was in your way, even if it was me."

If Santana was really being truthful, she would have said that that was only part of it. Sure, it was her initial motivation. What she would never actually admit to Rachel is that she _was _jealous. Rachel is pursuing her dream, what she knows she is destined for. Santana isn't sure what she wants to do. She's a college drop-out, and in a matter of months, has worked as a cage dancer in a bar, as a barista, and now as a singing waitress in a Broadway-themed diner serving disgusting racist and sexist tourists. What she does know is that music is her life. But she doesn't know to what capacity, she doesn't know what direction she wants to take it in.

Something clicked when Rachel invited her to the photoshoot, and Santana saw her living her dream. It reminded her of her ambition when they were in high school - Santana wanted to be famous. Though she realizes now how naive that is (thanks/no thanks to Brittany), she still sees it as an attainable goal. And one way to do that is to be in a show on Broadway. It isn't exactly how she pictured achieving that goal, but when she fantasized about Rachel pleading for her to be brave, to speak her truth, and then she found out they were auditioning her understudy, everything seemed to fall into place. Though being Rachel's understudy isn't ideal, it is a step in _some_ direction.

Santana knows she struck a nerve when Rachel purses her lips, looking like she's about to say something. The so-called trio walks into the loft, interrupting their conversation before she gets a chance.

As Kurt makes some snide comment about the lack of bloodshed upon their entrance, Santana can't decide if she's disappointed or relieved that they were interrupted before they could talk about what they were clearly avoiding talking about. She also can't decipher what she feels when Dani looks between the two of them, knowing they walked in on an intense conversation of some sort. She hopes that Dani assumes they were hashing out their differences, and not... well, not whatever the hell they did in the bathroom that Santana still can't wrap her mind around.

Right as Rachel moves to make a swift exit, Santana does the same. She's done doing the heart-to-heart thing, and she is still a little peeved that her own girlfriend voted to kick her out of the band. Besides, if she and Rachel weren't even going to talk about what happened, then there's no way she could deal with Dani's guilt about being a traitor, knowing she still has to sort out her own shit. She has to leave for work anyway, so she kisses Dani goodbye and heads out.

* * *

Santana is still in her Spotlight uniform when she gets to Elliott's apartment. Staring at the peephole in the door, she lifts her hand to knock. She pauses, suddenly self-conscious that she didn't take the time to change out of it, eyeing the dried splotch of ketchup on her apron-skirt from when that little brat threw a sauced fry at her. She isn't able to dwell on it for long, though, because the door opens and Elliott's looking at her all confused. He's probably hoping she's not there to move in, too. One high-maintenance near-stranger from Lima, Ohio, is enough.

"Santana. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hi, Judas. I'm looking for your new roomie with comparable moral leanings."

Elliott rolls his eyes, opening the door wider to let her in. "She's in the bathroom." He reaches to grab his jacket off the coat rack, looking over his shoulder to call out, "Rach, Santana's here to see you. I'm going to walk around the block several times and maybe hang out with some non-crazy people who preferably aren't gleeks from Ohio." He looks back at Santana, offers a tight-lipped smile, and walks out of the apartment.

Santana turns to close the door behind him, shrugging off her jacket and laying it across the back of the couch. The opening bars to "Give Your Heart a Break" sound from somewhere on the couch, and Santana digs out her phone to see a text from Dani.

**Are you still mad? If you come over, I can probably make it up to you. ;)**

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard on her phone as she considers her reply. After glancing at the closed bathroom door, she types out her response.

_**Am I still mad that my own gf pulled a Destiny's Child and now Rachel and I are LaTavia and LeToya? Yeah. I am. But maybe I won't be as mad tmw, Bey. xo -S**_

Santana briefly debates whether she should tell her she's with Rachel, but ultimately decides against it. She silences her phone and is putting it back in her jacket pocket when Rachel finally comes out of the bathroom, already changed into a set of gold star pajama shorts and top. Santana recognizes the set from last Christmas. It was a gift from her dads. Rachel always loved getting new PJs from them, and these were her favorite so far. She stops and stands on the other side of the couch from Santana, her face freshly washed and hair brushed neatly.

Taking in Rachel's smooth, mositurized legs, Santana nods appreciatively. "Wow, manscaping that hobbit lady body hair must be taxing. I hope you didn't clog the drain. Poor Elliott better be charging you extra to keep a plumber on retainer." Even as the words leave her mouth, something in her gut twists. She swallows it down, arching her brow and plastering a smirk on her face in her attempt to ignore this unsettling feeling.

Rachel takes a calming breath, crossing her arms in front of her. "What do you want, Santana? If you just came here to insult me, you'd better leave."

Santana steps around the back of the couch to stand across from where Rachel is standing. "Or what, you'll kiss me again?" Santana leans one hip against the couch, cocking her head in challenge.

Rachel purses her lips, glancing down at her feet. She lifts her head before speaking. "Look. Clearly that was an error in judgment. I was caught up in the moment, and you know how I appreciate theatrics." She clears her throat, visibly uncomfortable, knowing Santana can see right through her.

"Right. Because _kissing_ your so-called non-friend in an empty bar bathroom is the performance of a lifetime. I'm not buying it, dwarf. But whatever you wanna tell yourself. I came by here to make sure you weren't in love with me or whatever. Because, not that I care, but I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't have a midget fetish."

Rachel's face twists in shock, letting out a huff of air in disbelief. "Oh, don't _flatter_ yourself, Santana. _In love_ with you? Please." Santana feigns offense, though something aches in her chest at Rachel's near-disgust at the idea of having any kind of feelings for her.

"What, exactly, do you think you have to offer?" Rachel takes steps toward Santana, her hands ticking off reasons Santana's claim is absurd as she moves. "First, you've never been kind to me. In fact, you have been downright cruel. You are vindictive, and even when you weren't being awful, you were a horrible friend. _You_ are the one that is truly a selfish, petty, manipulative bitch. And you could _never_ care about anybody but yourself."

Rachel is standing in front of Santana now. Never breaking eye contact, Rachel leans forward until her face is inches from Santana's. Santana does her best to stand her ground and not flinch from Rachel's words or proximity. With as much vitriol as Rachel can muster, she speaks in a low, eerily calm voice. "You are _mean_, and I don't know why I _ever_ bothered to care about you in the first place."

Santana narrows her eyes at Rachel's words, refusing to be the first to back down. The apartment is so quiet, save for her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She struggles to control her breathing, which had begun to become erratic as Rachel ticked off her biggest flaws with ease. Unable to stop herself, her eyes flick down to Rachel's slightly parted lips then back up to her eyes, which seemed to track hers. The minty freshness of Rachel's breath fills Santana's nostrils.

What she wants to do is tell Rachel to go fuck herself, to grab her jacket, and get the hell out of Elliott's apartment. To forget about ever having considered Rachel a friend. To pretend like she never accompanied her to that clinic, or held Rachel when she cried in relief that she wasn't pregnant. Like she never helped her pick her audition song for Fanny, and hugged the shit out of her when she got the part. Like she never made her tea every night after they found out about Finn's death, even though Rachel didn't speak to either of them for days. What she wants to do is drowned out by Rachel's squeak of surprise when Santana pulls her by the back of her neck, mashing their lips together in a fiery kiss.

Her brain hasn't caught up to the fact that Rachel is returning the kiss with equal fervor, that her hands are on Santana's hips, pulling her closer. Or that Rachel is now sitting on the back of the couch, her legs wrapped around Santana's waist.

All Santana can hear are Rachel's words echoing in her brain to the rhythm of her rapidly increasing heart rate. She takes Rachel's bottom lip between her teeth, biting until Rachel rears back in a gasp. Rachel soothes her lower lip with her tongue to ease some of the sting while Santana sets a trail of wet kisses down her jaw, settling at Rachel's pulse point. Santana can feel Rachel's heartbeat beneath her tongue, her heavy breathing matching the pounding of her heart. Santana scrapes her teeth along the skin she's been working, causing Rachel to groan and bunch Santana's uniform tighter in her fists, pulling her impossibly closer.

Santana can feel Rachel's heat through the girl's shorts and her own uniform top. Her hands slide down from where they were tangled in Rachel's hair to roughly palm both of her breasts through her PJ top. She can feel Rachel's hard nipples through the fabric, and her thumbs instinctively roll over them firmly. She's somewhat surprised at how good Rachel feels, how she smells, how she sounds. What's not as surprising is how vocal Rachel is. Her voice always has been her strong suit. And she gets even more vocal when she's frustrated, apparently.

"Santanaaaaaaaaaaa" comes out in a sort of whine-groan. She draws out the last syllable until she's cut off with a gasp when Santana pinches both nipples swiftly. Rachel arches her back, pushing her chest into Santana's hands. Needing a change of scenery, and more surface area, Santana drags her hands down Rachel's body to under her ass. After giving both cheeks a satisfying squeeze, she lifts Rachel off the back of the couch. Rachel gasps in surprise, hooking her ankles behind Santana's back. Her arms move to circle Santana's neck. As they walk around to the front of the couch, Rachel's mouth finds Santana's again in a desperate kiss. Careful not to stumble, Santana drops Rachel down onto the cushions in the center unceremoniously. Rachel leans back, her chest heaving and her eyes raking over Santana's face and body, trying to take in as much as possible.

Santana swiftly undoes the top few buttons of her uniform, and slides down the side zipper so she can lift her top over her head, letting it fall to the ground. As she undresses, Rachel works on the buttons of her PJ top, keeping it on and allowing it to lay open when she gets to the last one. Santana removes her skirt and boots just as quickly as she did her top, and she's left standing in front of Rachel in her matching black bra and cheeky boyshorts. Santana smirks knowingly when Rachel's eyes widen almost comically once she stands up from undressing. She pauses for a moment to allow Rachel to appreciate the sight before her.

Santana kneels on the floor between Rachel's legs, her hands hooking behind Rachel's knees, pulling her to the edge of the couch. Santana pushes Rachel's top off her shoulders and down her arms, trapping Rachel's hands in the shirt behind her back. Taking a moment to admire Rachel's near-perfect boobs, a dark spot on her ribs catches Santana's eye. She leans forward, kissing Rachel's breast but never touching her nipple. She makes her way lower to see the dark spot. Written in simple script that matches the necklace Rachel always wears is one word - Finn. Santana feels something twist in her gut, and in a moment of reverence, she kisses the word. Not wanting Rachel to know what she's doing, she places light kisses in the area around the tattoo, making her way back up to her breast. She can't look at Rachel.

Instead, she closes her eyes and licks a trail from the side of her breast to her nipple, taking it into her mouth. Rachel lets out a breathy moan, and feebly fights to free her arms of Santana's grasp.

"Santanaaaa…" Rachel whines again.

Grateful that Rachel was seemingly too caught up in her lust, Santana looks up at Rachel, smiling around her nipple. She bites down with just enough pressure to sting. Rachel gasps, holding her breath as Santana continues to hold her nipple between her teeth. Maintaining the same pressure, Santana scrapes her teeth along her nipple as she pulls back achingly slowly until her teeth release it with a soft click. Rachel whimpers at the release, and seems to remember to fight a bit more to free her arms from her shirt. Leaning back onto her feet, Santana regards Rachel thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"What is it, Rach?" Santana tightens her hold on Rachel's shirt and wrists, pulling her closer to teeter on the edge of the couch. Rachel is forced to sit more upright, and her legs spread further apart to accommodate Santana. Santana can smell her arousal with the slight change in position.

"Am I not doing enough for you?" She glances down to the visible wet spot on Rachel's shorts, and chuckles humorlessly. "Well, by the state of your shorts, it looks like I'm doing quite a bit."

Their faces are close enough that their breath mingles in the space. Rachel's eyes narrow at Santana, her cheeks tinged pink. Santana isn't sure if she's embarrassed by how noticeably aroused she is or if it's just a result of their feverish makeout session.

Rachel swallows in an effort to moisten her suddenly dry mouth, and possibly to muster up some dignity. She lifts her chin and almost regally leans forward to close the gap between them. Santana holds her breath and closes her eyes, assuming Rachel is going to kiss her. A shiver rolls through her body at the feel of Rachel's lips and breath skating through the tiny hairs on her ear.

Rachel's voice is barely above a whisper and about an octave lower than Santana's ever heard it. "If you were doing enough, I'd probably be coming right now."

Santana's eyes snap open and she turns her head to gape at Rachel. She kind of hates how hot the smug grin on Rachel's face is. Sneering, Santana shoves Rachel back against the couch, letting go of the shirt and pulling her shorts down her legs in one smooth, swift motion. Rachel frees her arms from the pajama top, tossing it to the side. Spreading Rachel's legs so far apart she's practically doing the splits on the edge of the couch, Santana wastes no more time as she licks one long, firm stripe up Rachel's slit. Rachel shudders in pleasure, gasping as she buries her hands in Santana's hair.

Santana's tongue teases at Rachel's entrance before pumping it in and out of her a few times as she tightens her hold on Rachel's legs to keep them in the same position. She licks from her entrance up to her clit, flicking it over and over again until Rachel's panting and moaning. Santana slides one hand from Rachel's thigh inward, her index finger drawing lazy figure eights through her lips.

Rachel lowers the leg that no longer has a hand supporting it, resting her foot on the floor. Her nails scratch at Santana's scalp, pulling her mouth closer to her. Rachel gasps when Santana starts fucking her with two fingers, curling them with each in-thrust. She's going to come way sooner than Santana anticipated, and Santana chuckles smugly against her at the realization. _That'll teach you to question my skills._ Rachel shudders at the vibrations from Santana's laugh, but tightens her grip on Santana's hair. Santana hisses in pain, though a self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Feeling Rachel clamp down on her fingers, Santana focuses her attention on her clit. Rachel wraps both legs around Santana's head, her back arching, her body sliding down the couch the rest of the way as she comes undone.

Santana gently guides Rachel to the floor, her fingers slowing their pace but remaining inside Rachel. She extracts herself from Rachel's thighs and slides up her body to hover over her. She takes in Rachel's closed eyes, her parted lips panting out uneven breaths, the beads of sweat that have collected along her collarbone, her heaving chest. Santana's fingers still as her eyes travel back up to Rachel's face in time to see her eyelids flutter open.

Rachel's fingers tickle Santana's hips, where they had found purchase. She fiddles with the material of Santana's boyshorts, sliding her index fingers beneath the waistband and dancing her fingertips along Santana's skin from her hips to the top of her ass and back. Her fingers stop at Santana's lower back when Santana leans forward to nip at Rachel's ear lobe.

Santana feels Rachel's sigh more than she hears it. She places a light kiss just below her ear before whispering, "Still think I'm cruel?" She begins to slowly scissor the fingers that are still inside Rachel.

Rachel tenses beneath her. The fingers on Santana's back that, just a second ago, had been delicately caressing her are now carving tiny crescents into her skin. Regardless, she continues taunting Rachel, each word punctuated by increasingly sharp nips along her neck and jaw.

"Awful?" Nibble. "Petty?" Nip. "Vindictive?" Santana pulls her fingers out almost all the way before achingly slowly pushing them back in. "Selfish?"

Rachel lets out a growl and scrapes her nails up Santana's back to her shoulders, drawing screaming red welts in their wake. Santana arches her back and lets out a gasp, her head lifting quickly to glower at Rachel.

"You bi-" She's cut off because suddenly she's on her back, Rachel is straddling her, and she somehow got Santana's hand out of her and pinned to the ground.

Santana is taken aback as Rachel regards her with a look that is a combination of contempt, unadulterated loathing, and insatiable desire. If her underwear weren't already soaked through, it definitely is now.

Struggling to free her hands from Rachel's grasp, Santana demands, "What the fuck, Berry? I was knuckle-deep about to make you scream."

"Well, your incessant need to prove me wrong kind of killed it for me."

"That's not what your body was saying."

"Oh? And what's your body saying, Santana? What was it that you said before? 'I don't have a midget fetish?' Let's see, shall we?" Santana holds her breath as Rachel maneuvers to place a leg between Santana's thighs. She sighs in relief as Rachel rubs against her engorged clit. "I think you do have some kind of fetish. You want me. Don't you?"

"Fuck off," Santana spits through clenched teeth.

Never ceasing the torturous pressure between Santana's legs, Rachel taunts, "Just admit it, Santana. You want me. Your dirty little secret, huh? Is that why you treated me so poorly in high school?"

Santana lets out a strangled moan at the feel of Rachel's body connecting with her nipples as she leans down by Santana's ear to whisper. "You just wanted to fuck me, but you hated yourself for it."

"Shut the fuck up, Berry. Put your mouth to something useful for once," Santana seethes.

Rachel shakes her head defiantly. "Only if you admit it."

Jaw clenched and staring intently at Rachel, Santana considers her options. On the one hand, she's so fucking turned on that it hurts, and Rachel is still rubbing her thigh up and down, never adding any more pressure. On the other hand, she really fucking hates Rachel right now and she would never admit to actually wanting her. Nor would she admit to having wanted her in the past. That's such a crock of shit. After carefully weighing her options, Santana makes a rash decision.

"Fine. Yes. I want you. I want your fucking mouth on me and I want you to fuck me until I forget it's you fucking me."

Rachel laughs ruefully at that. "Oh, you'll never be able to forget this."

She releases one of Santana's wrists as she parts her legs with her own. Reaching down, she slides her hand down the front of Santana's boyshorts. Without any preamble, she plummets two fingers into Santana. She shifts her weight onto her other elbow to pull the cup of Santana's bra down. Rachel pulls her fingers out of Santana, sliding through her wetness to pinch her clit between her index and middle finger, stroking it up and down.

Santana's head is reeling from the onslaught of sensations as Rachel lowers her head to circle her tongue around the erect nipple. A moan is cut off by a gasp as Rachel plunges her fingers back into Santana as deep as they can go, curling them against her spot. Santana pants, her hands searching for something to grip onto, finally finding purchase on the side of the couch and a piece of clothing on the floor (she thinks it's her uniform top).

Santana looks down at Rachel as she slides down her body, nestling between her legs. Rachel pulls out of Santana to take off her underwear, replacing her fingers as quickly as she had removed them. Reflexively, Santana spreads her legs, arching her back and groaning at the sensations that wash over her at the slight change in position.

Fingers pumping furiously in and out of Santana, Rachel rests her head against Santana's stomach. Santana watches this girl that she tormented for years fuck her brains out. In that brief moment of lucidity, a wave of nauseating emotions wash over her - regret, guilt, shame, longing, anger, loneliness. The moment passes the second Rachel rubs her clit with her thumb.

Santana knows she's quickly approaching her well-deserved orgasm at that. She tilts her head back against the floor, closing her eyes as pleasure replaces the previous wave of emotions. She's startled when Rachel leans down to bite and suck on her hipbone. Exhaling, her mouth hangs open in surprise, and her eyes roll back because it feels so. fucking. good.

Rachel lets go with a loud pop to look up at Santana, but Santana pushes her head back to the same spot. Glaring at her with as much venom as she can gather with her sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks, Santana threatens, "Don't you dare fucking stop." She misses the smirk on Rachel's face before she resumes her ministrations.

She sucks even harder, increasing the pressure of her thumb on Santana's clit and pushing as deep into her as possible. Santana's back bows against the floor, her knees bending as she lets out an almost primal groan.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Rachel! Rachelrachelrachelllllll," Santana wails as she comes.

She slowly catches her breath, settling back down onto the carpet. She shudders as Rachel carefully extracts her fingers. Rachel's chuckle gets her attention, and she glances down to see Rachel admiring the screaming red spot. They both know it'll be deep purple soon, and that it'll be there for days. Santana sighs in defeat, knowing she definitely won't forget this anytime soon, whether she wants to or not.

A phone whistles from somewhere on the coffee table. Rachel sits up and retrieves her phone, reading the text that came through. Her eyes widen in panic. She slams her phone back onto the coffee table, scrambling to gather Santana's clothes and boots that are strewn across the floor.

Santana sits up, confused. "Uh, what the hell are you doing?"

"Elliott. You - coming - er, HE'S coming. Back. He's coming back. Now. You need to go. You need to get dressed. But not here. You need to go."

Santana shakes her head, trying to clear her head and understand what the fuck Rachel is babbling about. When realization sets in that she's getting thrown out, half-naked, after fucking her so-called non-friend, her blood boils. _Oh, HELL no_.

"Oh, HELL NO. Berry, I'm NAKED. You can't just throw me out like this. Fuck, YOU'RE naked." Santana stands up, Rachel thrusting her clothes into her arms.

Rachel stops, grasping Santana's arms and taking in their appearance. Santana is in just her bra, her is hair messy, and she's staring at Rachel like either Snix is about to make an appearance or she's going to start crying. Rachel looks down at herself, not a stitch of clothing on. She frantically searches for her pajamas then, stepping into her shorts when she spots them and clumsily buttoning up her top.

Santana throws the pile in her arms down, quickly finding her boyshorts and putting them on. She pulls her uniform top over her head and doesn't even get to zip up the side or put on her skirt when Rachel is guiding her to the door, grabbing her jacket from the couch and shoving it into her arms along with her boots and skirt.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says regretfully.

Santana is standing in the hallway outside of Elliott's apartment, staring at the peephole on the door. She looks down at the pile in her hands. Her eyes find the ketchup stain on her apron. Again, she's left there wondering what the fuck just happened.


	2. Chapter 2: History of Silence

A/N: I apologize for the update delay. I am in the process of planning a move across the country, so things have been a bit crazy. I definitely wanted to get this chapter done before I leave, though. :) Also, I originally planned for this chapter to cover more of the timeline, but just this part turned out longer than I'd anticipated. And while this chapter is shorter than I would have liked, I felt like ending it where I did was the best fit for the flow of things. Plus, this chapter's a bit more angsty, and it was difficult for me to write. Also, I'm here for group hugs. I'm all about hugging out the angst. (AKA I need a hug from writing this.)

Thanks again to my amazing beta timorous-scribe for being, well, awesome. And for enduring all the feels in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or its characters. If I did, things would be quite a bit different.

Songs in this chapter: "Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys; "Brave" by Sara Bareilles (of course)

* * *

"_I'm sorry," Rachel says regretfully._

_Santana is standing in the hallway outside of Elliott's apartment, staring at the peephole on the door. She looks down at the pile in her hands. Her eyes find the ketchup stain on her apron. Again, she's left there wondering what the fuck just happened._

**Chapter 2: History of Silence**

**NYC **

Once Santana takes her iPod out of her tote bag, she zips the bag closed and tucks it under the seat in front of her. Buckling her seatbelt and leaning back, she gazes out of the window at the baggage handlers loading suitcases on the conveyer belt into the plane. She's glad she didn't have to check anything, by the way the handlers are tossing the bags like ragdolls.

It's been less than a week since they found out about the glee club disbanding, and of course Rachel and Kurt flew home almost right away. Santana couldn't find anyone to cover one of her shifts, so she had to leave a day after them. Apparently they all had more miles than they realized; who knew impromptu flights every few months to Dayton, Ohio, from New York City could rack up so many miles? It's like their own magical portal, but… to _Ohio_. Plus, she couldn't go back to Lima without talking to Dani first. Santana had been maybe avoiding Dani since Rachel threw her out on her ass half-naked outside of Elliot's apartment. And since Rachel fucked her. Since she fucked Rachel. _Fuck_.

She can feel the mix of nasty emotions stirring up again in her gut when the people she's sharing her row with sit down. Though she's slightly relieved at the distraction, she not-so-subtly sneers at having to share such close proximity with enthusiastic middle-aged Midwesterners obviously returning home after a _swell_ vacation in the Big Apple. Her sneer turns into a polite smile when the wife apologizes for knocking into her while shoving her backpack that's definitely too big to fit under the seat.

She puts her earbuds in and turns up the volume, returning her gaze to the handlers on the tarmac that look to be finishing up the last bin of luggage. Santana isn't in the mood to listen to Rihanna right now (and _definitely not _"S&M"), but she doesn't want to make any decisions, so she sets her iPod to shuffle through all of her songs. She closes her eyes as the steady pulse of the first song makes its way to her ears. It's a song she recently added per Dani's suggestion, and she hadn't listened to it much since everything happened.

The bass drum keeps time with her heart. That is, until the lyrics start coming through, and after a few lines, her heartbeat rivals the pulsing from the earbuds.

"_Have you no idea that you're in deep?  
__I dreamt about you nearly every night this week  
__How many secrets can you keep?  
__'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat  
__Until I fall asleep"_

The lyrics bring her back to two nights ago, when she saw her girlfriend last. When she last had a girlfriend.

* * *

She didn't remember the ride over. Or the walk from the subway station to Dani's apartment building. What she did remember was the text she sent to Dani agreeing to come over. The next thing she knew, she was standing outside of her building pressing the button to be buzzed up. She went with the intention of only telling Dani that she's going to Lima for a few days, and avoiding talking about Rachel at all costs.

"So, is Rachel going, too?" Dani would've pulled off sounding casual asking the question if her nervous toying with a loose thread in the seam of her jeans hadn't given her away.

Santana didn't know why, but the question irritated her. "_Of course _she's going. She cares more about the glee club than I did. She cares more about the glee club than she cares about who's currently playing Elphaba. … Almost."

"Right." Dani sighed, flicking her bangs out of her eyes to finally look up at Santana.

The way she seemed to see right through Santana, to see past her armor of irritation, past the walls of insecurity, was unsettling. With that one word, Santana's certainty that what happened with Rachel had stayed between them faltered. There was no way Dani could know. They hadn't had sex since she found out she was Rachel's understudy; the bruise on her hip was still visibly green, and she's so bad at lying to Dani that she would have ended up making up some elaborate story that Dani would see right through. Like she was doing at that moment.

Santana cleared her throat of the paranoia that was beginning to build within her. "Whatever. What difference does it make? The point is, I'll be gone for maybe 3 or 4 days. Yes, she'll be there. But so will Kurt. And pretty much everyone else."

Dani bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, clearly watching Santana's every move closely. She leaned forward and took one of Santana's hands in hers. Nodding once in acceptance, she breathed out an "Okay." She looked down at Santana's hand in her own, taking in her soft skin and manicured nails, her thumb caressing the back of her hand affectionately. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I just… look, this is the first time I've seen you since Pamela Lansbury went kaput, and you've been acting strange all week."

Santana tensed in Dani's grasp, momentarily thrown off by the soothing motion of her thumb and the tinge of hurt and accusation in her words. She furrowed her brow in denial. "What? No, I haven't. I've just been busy. With _Funny Girl _stuff."

Dani's thumb continued its caress. Though she hadn't seen Santana's face when she spoke, she felt the tension in her posture. Dani closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled in a rush, "I'm just gonna say it. And if it's not true, great. My bad." She paused, catching her breath. Her thumb stopped moving, and she lifted her head to lock eyes with Santana. Softly, she pleaded, "But if it is, I need you to tell me. I need you to be honest with me. I think you have a crush on Rachel. Maybe that you're even in love with her a little bit." Dani dipped her head and shrugged slightly. "More than a little bit."

Images of Rachel's descent into unbearable divaness, and her blind devotion to and awful taste in men, and her overwhelming selfishness masqueraded as overt ambition flashed through Santana's mind. Reasons why she can't stand Rachel, why she even loathed her at times. And then Rachel's voice rang through her head: her calculated non-apology about blowing their shot at Nationals with that vomit-inducing display on stage with Finn; her attempts at taking control of the glee club... every single week; how husky her voice got when she moaned and was close to coming. Santana shuddered at the reminder that, for all she claimed to hate Rachel, for how much she couldn't stand her, she still fucked her. And loved every second of it. It annoyed the shit out of her.

Santana sputtered indignantly before she could get her words out. "A crush? _In love_? With the garden gnome? With the Lego figurine of Idina Menzel and the ego the size of Carrot Top's wannabe afro circa 1995? _Hardly_. Wh-where is this coming from?" She removed her hand from Dani's grasp, leaning back further into the couch. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, and one leg over the other, she tried hard not to avoid Dani's gaze.

Dani sat up straight, disbelief coloring her words. "Do you really not know? You say that you can't stand her, but you'll drop everything if she needs help. Whenever she's in a room, you can't stop looking at her. Even if I'm there. Why did you audition for _her_ understudy, Santana? You've never once mentioned wanting to be on Broadway. And now you two aren't even friends because of it. None of our fights have ever been that impassioned. I just… please tell me I'm wrong."

Santana was speechless for a long moment. The foot on her crossed leg started bouncing nervously. Her first instinct was to deny it. She loved Dani. Rachel could go jump off a cliff for all she cared. But something stopped her. She loved Dani. She could lie to herself. But she couldn't lie to Dani. Not anymore. Her foot calmed. "I can't." Santana was surprised by her whispered admission. "I can't tell you you're wrong." Defeat and discomfort crept into her tone as she realized the truth of her words. "Because I don't know if you are."

"_Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new  
__Now I've thought it through"_

She couldn't look at her. Santana didn't want to see what her words did to her girlfriend. She uncrossed her arms, and stared at the small bruise she got from knocking her hand into the counter corner at work. She squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other while smoothing the pad of her thumb over the bruise, pressing on it until it ached. She held her breath and lifted her eyes to face what she'd earned herself in all this mess.

The look on Dani's face was not quite what she'd expected. She expected crushing pain, anger, maybe betrayal. Instead, she saw heartbreak mixed with resignation, and something else she couldn't name.

Dani sighed, leaning back into the couch with a soft _oomph_. "Well, that's honest."

Santana let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, well." She took a deep breath. "What now?"

The look Santana couldn't pin down overtook Dani's features. Her eyes softened, and her head tilted to the side affectionately. "I can't answer that for you, Santana. But I think you really have to ask yourself what it is you really want." Dani paused, looking like she was contemplating whether she should voice the rest of her thoughts. "And _who _it is you really want."

Santana stared blankly at Dani, even as she felt her heart start to pound and her face flush with heat. "Uh, YOU. I want _you_." Santana didn't fight the urge to roll her eyes. "I _love _you, Dani. … the _fuck_," Santana scoffed. She felt tears sting in her eyes, and she blinked a few times to keep them at bay. The tears pissed her off even more, mostly because she didn't know if they were because Dani was questioning how she felt about her, questioning her word, or if Dani really saw something that Santana didn't even understand.

Dani let out a resigned breath, shaking her head. Santana's chest tightened with the realization that the look on Dani's face was pity. Dani pitied her. _Fuck that_. Sitting forward and reaching for Santana's hand again, Dani regarded Santana with care. "I love you, too. And I believe that you care about me and that you love me. I just don't think it's me that you want. I don't think _you _know who you want."

"_So have you got the guts?  
__Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts  
__Simmer down and pucker up  
__I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you  
__I don't know if you feel the same as I do  
__But we could be together if you wanted to"_

Santana tightened jaw, thinning her lips as she took an audible inhale. Closing her eyes, a single tear trickled down her cheek. She yanked her hand away from Dani's grasp, wiping the tear away angrily before crossing her arms in front of her again. She opened her eyes to stare coldly into Dani's. "So, what? Does that mean you're breaking up with me?"

Dani rested her elbows on her knees, hunching forward. She took a deep breath. "That means I'm letting you go so you can figure it out." She was mesmerized by the flexing muscle in Santana's jaw.

Santana looked away, finding a spot on one of Dani's bookshelves where the paint was chipping.

"Honestly, this was inevitable. You deserve to be happy, Santana. And I deserve to be someone's inevitability, not who they settle for."

* * *

Santana is startled momentarily when the plane jerks with the initial push-back. The woman sitting next to her taps her politely on her forearm, gesturing for her to take out her earbuds when she looks up. Unable to keep the _this bitch _look off her face, she presses pause and removes one ear bud.

"If you want to use the bathroom, don't hesitate to let us know. It's not a long flight, but when you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Thanks."

Santana still can't believe that she was so worried about Dani dumping her because she hate-fucked Rachel (and cheated on Dani), and then Dani ended up dumping her anyway because she's convinced Santana's _in love with _Rachel. _What kind of twisted shit is that?_

She shakes her head at this whole thing and puts her ear bud back in, not ready to turn the music back on, but not wanting to give the woman any reason to think she wants to have a conversation. The plane stops momentarily and she realizes they're already lined up to take off.

The engines begin to roar, and she leans back, still staring out of her window. Taking off has always been her favorite part. It's the adrenaline that comes from the fear that they could blow up in this giant physics-defying contraption, and the thrill of leaving the earth and everything behind. This could be the last thing she ever does. And she's sitting next to a nice-enough white couple thinking about how she just got dumped and questioning her relationships with... well, everyone.

Santana admires the pink cotton candy sky as the sun descends upon the horizon behind the houses dotting the Queens skyline just beyond the tarmac. From just a few hundred feet off the ground, she can see street lights and signboards start to wake up as night begins to fall.

She takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly, full of intent, trying to rid herself of the mixed-up feelings the last song conjured. She presses the play button, and the last few notes filter through. The next song starts, also with a catchy percussion, but this one is more uptempo and not as soul-pounding. When she realizes what song it is, her heartbeat stutters, and all she can think is _are you fucking kidding me!?_ She can't bring herself to skip it, though; instead, she's compelled to listen through. She hadn't given her daydream much thought because the fight with Rachel happened not long after. And then the _other_ thing with Rachel happened. And then the thing with Dani happened. Santana sighs. It's been a long week.

Her daydream when she accompanied Rachel to the photo shoot comes back in HD surround sound as the song plays. But it's her own voice she hears singing to Rachel. Images flash in her mind with almost every line like a montage of someone else's life.

* * *

"_You can be amazing  
__You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug"_

They were all at school, Finn, Rachel, and her. Finn had been going on and on about virginity and it was pissing Santana off. Rachel kept going on and on about how perfect and noble her bloated prince was. She couldn't take it anymore and just had to pop Rachel's self-righteous bubble. She called him a hypocrite, and predictably, Rachel came to the defense of her hairless panda, telling Santana to shut up. She didn't want Rachel to find out like this—really, she never wanted _anyone_ to find out about it at all if she could've helped it—but she was asking for it. So, Santana told her that she and Finn had had sex, and, yes, Finn was a hypocrite—emphasis on the hippo.

Santana knew her point had been made. But she couldn't help herself when she saw them across the hallway from each other later that day. With all their sad eye-fucking, she couldn't resist blowing a kiss to Finn as she walked past, and whispering "Did I tell you that he bought me dinner after?" to Rachel. Although the anger that was obvious on Rachel's face was definitely satisfying, the hurt that was mixed in made her stomach turn. She swallowed it down, and left it there.

"_You can be the outcast"_

"Manatees have really thick skin," Santana told Brittany, dismissing the concern Brittany had shown for Finn's self-esteem. She wasn't doing a good job at hiding her amusement at her own wit, despite Brittany's glare.

Just as she was about to kiss the frown off her (quasi-) girlfriend's face, Becky stomped toward them demanding that she go see Coach Sylvester immediately.

As soon as she got to Coach's office, she knew something was wrong. The image of Brittany's adorable glare was quickly replaced by Mr. Schue's dopey sharpei pout. As she sat, watching the commercial, bile slowly started to rise. She could taste it at the back of her throat. She couldn't hurl in front of Coach. So she cried instead. The sobs came out of her as the vomit would have. Everyone was going to know she was a lesbian. Because of Finn. His sad, pathetic, insecure, hypocritical face came to mind immediately. She knew somewhere off-campus, he was wearing some smug grin, jerking off to himself finally doing something that left Santana speechless. Rachel was probably so proud of him, all on his nuts, thinking something cliché like, _my hero_. _Ugh_. Their faces faded from her mind's eye, and then all she could see were her parents. And her abuela. Their disgusted expressions, their backs turning away from her, disappointment oozing from their pores. _How could this happen?_

"_Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love"_

Santana always knew that Rachel would make the school gays her charity project. She never expected her to actually stand up for them, though. While it would not have been _her_ choice for a song to sing in defiance and pride, she definitely felt proud to be in the glee club and to have these amazing girls stand with her against Josh dickless Coleman in a rousing rendition of "I Kissed a Girl." She thought she hid her surprise that Rachel was by her side the whole time pretty well, and she didn't know what to make of that.

"_Or you can start speaking up"_

So, she was out. And she was starting to be proud, too. She would be willing to have some small rainbow flag somewhere in her room. But that was it. She drew the line at anything resembling flannel or Birkenstocks or anything smelling like patchouli. The point was, she really didn't care anymore what people thought.

Rachel's new cause of the day was her anti-Prom party, which she only started because Fimpotent was trying to do his noble whatever by agreeing to be Quinn's counterpart for Prom court. It's all so… adolescent. She was really only getting away with it in the first place because everyone was on eggshells around her since she bombed her audition. Santana was the only one to tell Rachel to get her head out of her ass and see that she was being petty. This was one of the last times they'd get to spend together before graduation. Just because she choked on her audition for that Broadway has-been factory didn't mean they all had to suffer. This was prom, dammit, and Santana was gonna get her dancing and sweet lady kisses on with Britts and have fun with her friends before they all went their separate ways, and she wasn't going to let Rachel's little revolution ruin it.

"_Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do  
__When they settle 'neath your skin  
__Kept on the inside and no sunlight  
__Sometimes a shadow wins"_

It was all a blur. Kurt telling her when she got home from work, her tips stuffed in her purse, Rachel staring blankly with red rimmed eyes and damp cheeks as she sat on the couch. The wordless plane rides for both the funeral and the memorial. Even writing those nice things about Finn seemed surreal.

The only thing that has remained clear as day was something Kurt said to her. "Shame is a wasted emotion."

Since then, she vowed to herself to stop being ashamed of who she is or who she was. To stop being ashamed of what she's done in the past. She vowed to be a better friend. To be the friend Brittany always said she was.

"_But I wonder what would happen if you  
__Say what you wanna say  
__And let the words fall out  
__Honestly I wanna see you be brave"_

This was some shit. She couldn't believe she ever considered them family. Even after Santana was there for Rachel in a way no one else was, they fucking kicked her out.

She had spent the money she was saving to visit Brit on a ticket to New York because Kurt called frantically, begging her to talk some sense into Rachel about doing a topless scene in her first play. No one besides Brittany knew how much she had regretted doing that sex tape. And she went to New York, with Quinn, to save Rachel from making a mistake she'd regret for the rest of her career.

No one knew about Rachel's pregnancy scare. _No one_.

Rachel's fucking boyfriend was a _gigolo_. Women paid him to take them out. And probably to have sex with them. Considering how Rachel reacted to thinking he'd gotten her pregnant, Santana can't imagine how she would have been if that Ken doll had given her the herp. Such bullshit.

* * *

She doesn't really hear the rest of the song. She can see how Dani would think she has feelings for Rachel. She had stood up for Rachel in her own misguided way, sure. She's been there for her when no one else was. But what had Rachel given her in return? Guilt. Judgment. Homelessness.

Shit, Santana still arranged for Brody to be punished on Rachel's behalf even after she and Kurt kicked her out. Santana wasn't going to even tell Rachel that Brody was a gigolo, but Rachel was so fucking clueless. After Rachel officially ended things with Brody, she couldn't even bring herself to _thank_ Santana, much less tell her she'd been right. But then again, what was she expecting, really?

Rachel can call someone ELSE the next time her gigolo boyfriend—that she's too stupid to notice is a fucking gigolo—maybe knocks her up. Someone ELSE can hold her fucking hand and treat her like family. And she can spit in someone ELSE's face the week after. Santana does not need that bullshit.

_This is gonna be a great visit._

* * *

**Thank you SOOOO much to those of you who have been following and commenting. :) It makes my heart so happy. Please R/R. Especially after this chapter. I'll need some love. **


End file.
